


Give a Man Who Goes to War a Good Reason to Come Home

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth aka The Mandalorian's HOT3 [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Space Idiots, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Polyamory, Pre-OT3, Reunions, Romance, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “Well, look at ya,” he smirks with bittersweet mirth, “I never stood a chance with the guy.”The glare she sends his way is somehow both warning and flattered. She knows what he's implying.“I find it very hard to believe our mutual tight-lipped friend told you aboutme.”“Oh, he never gave a name,” Cobb winks, “but I know everythin' about ya, darlin'.”“Marshal Cara Dune,” she cuts in curtly. A mocking smile tugs at her lips. “Who do I have the arguable pleasure to be talking to?”Cobb holds out his hand with the most charming of his smiles. “Marshal Cobb Vanth.”Marshal Dune—Cara,what a beautiful name—shakes his hand and returns the smile with a hint of hostility that only fascinates Cobb even more.“Sounds like we got an excess of Marshals in here,” she says, an eyebrow arching up in a defiant provocation. Cobb humbly bows his head at her.“Could be just the right amount, ma'am.”[ While Din is away to help Ahsoka train the kid, Cobb Vanth brings his help—and charm—to Nevarro. ]
Relationships: Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth aka The Mandalorian's HOT3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044393
Comments: 86
Kudos: 216





	1. The Marshals

**Author's Note:**

> Set before The Jedi. Ahsoka accepts to train the kid and Din spends two years helping her. In the meantime, stuff happens on Nevarro.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian didn't lie about Nevarro: it does feel a lot like good old Moss Pelgo, or it would, if Mos Pelgo was a flourishing town bristling with life and colours.

Cobb grins fondly at the noisy crowd crawling across the bazaar. He adjusts his dusty backpack on his shoulder and flips a couple of credits to the closest vendor, asking for directions; the very kind woman is only happy to point out the Marshal's office for him, just two streets down on the right. Cobb takes in the freshly renovated buildings as he walks, the plentiful goods displayed on the stalls: the wealth of the town is growing, and with the riches always come the troubles. He's sure the Marshal might use a deputy, if they still don't have one.

The office door is open when he gets there; Cobb finds a woman sewing up a nasty cut on her own arm, left-handed but not remotely troubled by it. She rises her eyes on him, takes him in briefly, then picks up the bottle of alcohol sitting in front of her and pours some over the stiched wound.

“Can I help you?”

Cobb cocks his head to one side. He likes a girl with attidude. “Met a Mandalorian a while back who told me you could use a hand 'round here.”

The woman's hand stills while wrapping a gauze around her remarkably chiselled bicep; her attention shoots back at him. “Grumpy guy with a cute green kid?” she inquires cautiously.

Cobb nods. “That's the man.”

“That son of a bantha,” the woman scoffs, but there's a curl at a corner of her mouth.

Cobb's brows furrow slightly; his brain is starting to put a few pieces together. This woman doesn't simply _know_ the Mandalorian: there's history, there. He can see it in her expression the same way he could feel it in Mando's voice when he spoke about this someone he'd left behind and wanted to go back to as soon as possible. It could have been anyone, Cobb thought, but it's clear as day now that he sees _her:_ a rare combination of strength and beauty welded together in a body that shouldn't be exhibited so nonchalantly, and eyes so dark and sharp they could cut through beskar... and they probably did.

“Well, look at ya,” he smirks with bittersweet mirth, “I never stood a chance with the guy.”

The glare she sends his way is somehow both warning and flattered. She knows what he's implying.

“I find it very hard to believe our mutual tight-lipped friend told you about _me.”_

“Oh, he never gave a name,” Cobb winks, “but I know everythin' about ya, darlin'.”

“Marshal Cara Dune,” she cuts in curtly. A mocking smile tugs at her lips. “Who do I have the arguable pleasure to be talking to?”

The flare of heat spreading in Cobb's loins makes him chuckle to himself. Oh, he _gets_ where Mando is coming from: you don't meet women like this every day, but _Marshals_ like this? How did the shiny guy not fall at her feet right away?

Cobb holds out his hand with the most charming of his smiles. “Marshal Cobb Vanth.”

Marshal Dune— _Cara,_ what a beautiful name—shakes his hand and returns the smile with a hint of hostility that only fascinates Cobb even more.

“Sounds like we got an excess of Marshals in here,” she says, an eyebrow arching up in a defiant provocation. Cobb humbly bows his head at her.

“Could be just the right amount, ma'am.”

She almost laughs at that, and Cobb suspects it's his choice of words, which makes it all the more intriguing: he'll never pass down a chance to flirt with a worthy opponent. He was jealous of this faceless, nameless person Mando couldn't stop talking about, and when he decided to come to Nevarro, it was only out of a genuine wish to do some good, but now that he's here in front of Cara, he feels he wants to know her, to discover all those traits of her that ensnared such a dutifully guarded heart.

“So,” Cara says, leaving back in her chair to cross her ankles over the desk, “you've met Mando.”

The confidence in her body language calls to Cobb as loudly as the Mandalorian's stiff awkwardness did back on Tatooine. He can only imagine how strongly these two must vibe around each other; he'd love to get them both in one room and just get high on the sexual tension.

“Good guy,” he says fondly. He sits on the edge of the desk, earning a glower he elegantly ignores. “Gave me a hand taking care of a nasty beast plaguin' my village. Told me about this friend he had on Nevarro and what kind of business people were handlin' here. Thought I'd come and offer my help now that Mos Pelgo is safe.”

Cara studies him for long seconds—too long for a mere professional assessment. Cobb knows what she's really looking for—same thing he's looking for in her: qualities that made Mando like him. It goes on for so long, this mutual staring contest, that at some point Cobb's curiosity takes over and, lost deep in those jet-black eyes, he can't help but blurt, “A drink for your thoughts, Marshal.”

Cara's beautiful face is dark with concentration; she's still deciding whether she likes Cobb or not—if he's friend or foe.

“It's a lot of thoughts, _Marshal,”_ she replies with a tone that perfectly mirrors the scepticism in her expression.

Cobb gladly accepts the challenge. He stands up, brushes some imaginary dust off his trousers, then gives a suggestive nod toward the door and says, “Then I guess it's gonna be a lotta drinks.”

It _is_ a lot of drinks.

Cobb could listen to this woman talking forever and then some. Her voice is husky and warm and she has these lips that beg to be touched and maybe kissed every time Us ans Os pass upon them, making them take an unfairly kissable shape. The patrons in the cantina and the bartender herself treat her with respect mixed with a little bit of awe that makes Cobb smile harder and hander as he realises how beloved she is by these people. They talk about their pasts and when it comes to meeting Mando, Cara wins the contest for Best First Meeting hands down. Cobb isn't surprised the guy is so smitten with her: no one could get their ass kicked by such an enchanting opponent and not fall in love with her a little bit, least of all a Mandalorian.

Cobb witnesses Cara's personality unveiling little by little before his own eyes as the drinks flows. He has a feeling she's only talking to him to hear about the Mandalorian, but he understands, senses the melancholy in her voice, and so he tells her everything—how they met, how they somehow managed to sneak in some flirting while they threatened each other, and the Krayt dragon, and Mando's final jaw-dropping stunt.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Cara giggles, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. Might be the alcohol, might not. Cobb laughs, too—with her, because of her, he's not sure. He's tipsy enough to blame this on the cheap spotchka.

Cobb has to come to terms with the fact that he's smitten with this woman before his third glass is empty. Cara Dune bears too many scars and too many burdens for such a young woman, but she does it proudly and is not afraid to admit sometimes it hurts to even breathe. Her life has been different since she met the Mandalorian and his little green brat, though, and Cobb is starting to think it wouldn't be half as bad as he believed to spend the rest of his life watching Cara and Mando be happy together without him. This day will come, sooner or later, and he hopes he'll be still around to see the smile on Cara's face when Mando finally returns to her. He couldn't be more honoured to get his heart broken because of such an incredible rival. He has nothing on this woman, absolutely nothing: there's something about her that screams _'I'm angry and dangerous',_ and it's something lethal to pair up with such gorgeous looks.

“You and him must be quite a sight to behold, fightin' together,” he remarks, mentally shaking his head at the involuntary dreamy lilt it takes.

Cara grins proudly, if a bit nostalgically. “You can say that. Though the picture the two of you side by side in Mandalorian armour? Man!” she fans herself with a hand and chuckles before gulping down a shot of something so strong it makes her squeeze her eyes and groan. Cobb can't take his eyes off her, not even when she casts his a sideways glare that could almost be amused.

It's almost sunrise when they get kicked out in the empty street. They've spent the whole night talking and Cobb is only remotely aware that he's opened up more to this woman and _that guy_ in a single night than he has to most people he knows in whole years. Neither he nor Cara were particularly secretive about their feelings for Mando, and even though nothing explicit has been said, Cobb is positive by now they both have a very precise idea of where the other stands. It's still unclear whether they're on the same side or on opposite sides: where does being in love with the same person put you?

Except maybe there is something else, now. It buzzes between them as they walk side by side in the empty main square, watching the moon fade as the sun climbs up the horizon in its wake of purples and pinks. Cobb and Cara have been quiet for a few minutes but it feels like an eternity after a whole night of incessant chatting. In this surreal silence, Cobb starts to hear treacherous whispers rising from the darkest recesses of his soul. It would be easy to ignore them, if he wasn't half drunk.

He grabs Cara's wrist and, before she has a chance to react, pushes her back against the closest wall. He leans toward her, dizzy and almost breathless for no reason at all, and inhales her salty scent. Her lips part to ask something that remains unspoken; her hands rise to his chest as if to shove him away, but instead of pushing she grabs his shirt and almost _pulls,_ and it's more erotic than Cobb can take.

“Permission to kiss you,” he mutters upon her lips. He feels Cara grin.

“We got a real gentleman, here.”

“My mama taught me to respect women,” he says with a vague chuckle, “especially those who could kick my ass.”

Cara's breath is getting shorter and heavier, too. Cobb can feel her body press closer to his; she lets her legs spread slightly and Cobb's knee slides between hers all too eagerly. When their hips collide, they both let out a choked moan.

“You're a good sweet talker,” Cara pants, “I'll give you that.”

Cobb curls a hand behind her neck, buries his fingers in her hair. “Waitin' for permission, ma'am.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The kiss Cara drags him down into is hungry and hot, and feels like a sweet surrender more than a real kiss. Their hands are everywhere on each other: they touch, they grab, they stroke, and Cobb wonders if she's thinking what he's thinking— _'This is what Mando would feel if he kissed her, if he had her in his arms...'_

“Has he ever touched you like this?” he asks when they stumble into her apartment with their clothes already half off. He has a hand down her pants, soaked with her arousal, and he's painfully hard just from hearing her gasps every time he brushes just the right spot.

“He's never touched me at all,” Cara sighs against his lips. They strip each other naked like their clothes are on fire, but it's _them_ —they are on fire, burning to get closer, to get _more._

“You got a sweet body, Marshal,” Cobb praises as he trails his lips between her breasts, up her neck. She feels nothing like Mando would feel, but this is probably what Mando dreams about at night—this maddening softness, the strength of these thighs clutched around his hips, and her lips, her warmth, the addictive taste of her skin...

“Enough talking, you've already seduced me,” she pants in his ear, “Get down to business, Marshal.”


	2. Two Thirds of a Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Norwegian proverb says: _children who are similar play better together,_ and Cara and Cobb are exceptionally similar is so many ways...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters became three... sounds familiar? 😶 No one even notices by now when my chapters magically multiply, people just _expect_ it. 😅

This is how it starts: a night of semi-drunken, amazing sex they both swear is going to remain an isolated occurrence.

“It's gonna be just a couple of days.” Cara thrusts a pillow and a couple of blankets into Vanth's hands and nods at the couch, which is definitely too small for him. “That's where you're sleeping. Don't get strange ideas just because we had sex once.”

“Define _strange.”_

“I'm giving you a week, Vanth,” she cuts him off; he accepts the warning with an accommodating bend of his head.

“Yes, ma'am.”

They manage to stay true to their word for about two days.

The first morning, Cara wakes up to the mouth-watering smell of brewing caf and something sweet baking in the oven. Frowning, she rolls out of bed and pads to the kitchen where she finds Vanth chopping down fruits in nothing but his underwear. She blinks, wants to say something; she's torn between a stunned _'What's this?'_ and a grudging _'Thank you',_ but realises that this is his own way to thank her for her hospitality, so she just stands there until Vanth acknowledges her entrance with a smile. One second later, he's handing her a mug of steamy caf, then he whispers, “Good mornin',” with a voice as soft as a caress. When the night comes again, his pillow and his blankets are still waiting for him on Cara's couch, but he never uses them again for the rest of the week, nor for the ones to follow.

Greef welcomes Vanth to his town with a grunt and a displeased glower he addresses to Cara, for some reason, who returns it with a dismissive shrug. The town _does_ need a deputy, after all.

“That guy's trouble,” Greef grumbles as he points at Vanth from across the cantina.

“He's a good one,” Cara tries to argue. “If Din trusts him, I trust him.”

Greef shakes his head at her. “He's _trouble.”_

“How?” Cara snaps.

Vanth is sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey he raises in a toast when he realises he's being watched. He also smiles and winks at Cara, which makes Greef's scowl turn into a deadly glower.

“ _That's_ how.”

It doesn't occur to Cara until later that night, while she and Vanth are sharing a beer as they walk home, that Greef was not complaining about the man himself so much as his behaviour in her regard. She might be wrong, but she's under the impression Greef is being jealous on Din's behalf. It's cute, and also quite pointless, because Cara and Vanth were drawn together _because of_ Din, not _despite_ Din, and this is still a dynamic they're both rather confused about. Not understanding their innate mutual attraction, however, still hasn't stopped them from ending up entangled in a relationship that is too intricate and strange to have a name.

Cara tries not to dwell too much on the hows and the whys: Vanth is one of those rare attractive men who know how to be lovable, and he's so effortlessly lovable Cara just can't help but take a reluctant shining to him. The sex is good—the sex is _great_ —but what they really are looking for is the emotional comfort they weren't expecting to find in each other. Sleeping with him feels good, and most of the time it's really just _sleeping_ —a warm body to curl into, gentle hands stroking her back, running through her hair; they make love, too, sometimes only because their need for closeness is so raw and desperate the choice is either that of tearing each other apart to get under each other's skin. It's no big deal when they wake up in the morning and get ready together, sorting out their clothes from the piles they scattered across the room. It's like a business contract: partners on the job, in every day's life, and in bed—or it _would_ be like business, weren't they such exceptionally good friends.

Professionally, Cobb Vanth is a remarkable jack of all trades ( _'And master of none,'_ as he likes to point out as often as possible, lest someone think he takes his self-confidence seriously), with a sharp mind and quick trigger; personally, he's a pain in the ass, albeit a very charming one, with an ego big enough to fill up Nevarro and perhaps, when he's in particularly good shape, even some nearby planet. He keeps telling everyone Mrs Marshal is always barking at him because she likes him; Cara will be dead and gone before she admits it's true.

Working alongside with this guy is easier than she could have ever imagined—it feels natural, even. For being people who barely just met, they work damn well together: they complete and anticipate each other; a look is enough to share a strategy, an assessment, or even just a joke. Cara is sure they're not supposed to have so much fun, beating up bad guys for a living, but they do, and at the end of the day, when they drag themselves home, battered and bruised, what really counts is the big, satisfied smiles plastered across their faces and the quiet awareness that life feels a little bit easier, now. There's an echo of days they lived with someone else in moments like these, and Cara is confused by how she feels about Cobb, unable to discern whether it's just a reflection of her feelings for Din, or a whole new thing entirely.

“Did you ever tell 'im?” Cobb asks one day while they're cleaning their blasters after a very busy day spent taking down raiders who chose the wrong planet to mess up with. They both nearly died a couple of times and the adrenaline still boiling in their blood is going to lead them to one of those nights when they'd rather stop breathing than let go of each other.

Cara tries to ignore the pang of sadness puncturing her heart. “No,” she mumbles, the weight of her thoughts slowing down her movements until they stop. “There was no point. I think we both knew right away something was _there,_ but...”

“You don't name a bantha you plan to eat, eh?” The faint smile Cobb gives her is wry and sympathetic. This is a part of his own story she knows by heart by now; it seems to be a recurrent theme in Din's life: touch down, leave a mark, disappear. Cara stopped dreaming a long ago of a day when he will come back to stay.

“No,” she agrees sourly, “you don't.”

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, Din's absence accompanies them in their mutual discovery, fills their mouths when they talk, when they kiss, when they eat and drink. There is always an extra plate at their table, an extra glass, an extra set of cutlery, even though the person they're there for could never sit down and share a meal with them. It's an unspoken rule that started accidentally and stuck with them because of the comfort it brings: it's easy to picture Din sitting there with the child on his lap, feeding him bits of his own meal.

“Reminds me of a ballad I heard in Mos Espa,” Cabb muses one morning as he picks up the unused set of dishes. “Was about this domesticated wolf that keeps runnin' away from his farm to go howlin' at the moon in the prairie. Always leaves with a prayer: _'Keep the door open 'cause I'll be comin' home'...”_

“That's our guy.” Cara's distant smile is laced with shades of blue. Every time Cobb surprises her with one of these pieces of wisdom she feels a tug in her chest, like he's carving his way inside her a little more every day and there's nothing she can do to stop him. What she finds most surprising is that apparently there is still room for him to claim as his own.

The fact that the new marshal lives with the resident marshal doesn't seem to bother anyone but Greef. The townspeople took up affectionately referring to them as The Marshals, at first, then someone one day calls them Mr and Mrs Marshal as an innocent joke, and there is no way to change it back. Cara rolls her eyes every time she hears this; Cobb laughs and responds with a witty quip. Neither ever corrects the playful statement.

There is something comforting about being so close to someone who understands exactly what Cara feels every time she looks at the horizon and wishes to see the silvery glint of an old rusty ship appear somewhere among the clouds. Cobb watched Din disappear in the sky, too, and knows what she's thinking every time she looks up at the stars. They miss _him_ together, they wait together, and nobody mentions how absurd it is. Every time they spar, Cara discovers something new about Cobb she bets caught Din's attention, too: a flaw in his guard, a trick he uses to cheat when he's losing, the way he grins so irresistibly when she has him with his back against the wall...

“Admit it, darlin',” he teases with Cara's whole body pinning him up against the trunk of a tree. “You enjoy being in control.”

She snickers at the hoarseness of his voice, thick with restrained arousal, and presses her forearm harder to his throat. “Do you surrender?”

And Cobb's hands find her hips, and his smile widens as the pressure against his throat eases and then vanishes because he just flipped Cara around and now she's the one being pressed to the tree.

“I surrender, ma'am” he whispers, even though he has the higher ground, now, and they pant together, forehead upon forehead, waiting for the fire in the veins to subside before they can resume the sparring. It's a different kind of surrender that they've been feeling in their souls for quite a while, now.

The thing is, everything with Cobb is as easy as everything with Din was complicated: it's easy to wake up beside him and believe he won't be gone as soon as she blinks, easy to sit down with him in the cantina and drink until they're stupidly drunk and can't look at each other without thinking of what's missing, easy to bury herself in his arms and just ramble about things she never had a chance to tell Din. They've agreed that there are no strings on them: whatever this thing between them is, it doesn't bind them, doesn't commit them in any way, but they're good for each other, and this alone is shocking enough to keep them together.

“You're gonna get hurt,” Greef keeps warning them. “Both of you. _All three of you.”_

So maybe they are. They're grown-ass adults: they're free to hurt themselves as much as they like.

There is no need for Greef to give any detail about the third party implied: they all know who the bantha in the room is. In occasions like this, Cara always shakes off Greef's words with a snort; Cobb usually has something clever up his sleeve to shoot back. So far Cara's favourite is: “You don’t learn much when everythin' goes right.” She loves it because it's true, because it reminds her that perfection isn't _born:_ it's _achieved._

They live by the day and act like there is no future, neither to fear nor to plan. There is plenty of gossip around them, some of which true, some other ridiculously close to cheap romance novels. The good ladies in town have collectively adopted them—mostly to have an excuse to stick their noses into their private business, Cara suspects—and most of the time the marshal office looks more like a banquet hall from all the food that keeps coming in accompanied by this or that matron showing up to make sure they're properly fed and their wounds adequately looked after. Sometimes the women come with their children in tow—sons and daughters, grandchildren, nephews and nieces—and Cara wants to groan at the chaos and the noise, but the truth is she's kind of starting to enjoy being surrounded by people who care about her. The fact that Cobb is such a natural with children doesn't really help: he lets them play with his badge, even brings them to see the prisoners, sometimes, and some very unlikely friendships have formed because of this.

“You're crazy, you know that, right?” Cara says while they watch from afar as the kids and the criminals play Pazaak from opposite sides of the bars. He turns to her, arms folded across his chest, and fakes a modest grin.

“Takes one to know one, huh?”

She pokes his side with her elbow and goes back to her desk, leaving him in charge of the kids.

“So,” she hears one of the mothers ask Cobb when she comes to pick up her son, “When are you and Mrs Marshal getting married, Mr Marshal?”

Cara expects a nonchalant laugh, a joke; what follows instead is a pause of wistful silence.

“She ain't gonna marry me, Bess,” Cobb replies eventually, his voice thin in a way Cara doesn't remember hearing before. He sounds _so_ sure. A knot of guilt tightens in her throat. This is not good. What she's feeling right now... this wasn't part of the deal.

“Did you even _ask_ her?” the woman insists.

“No.”

“How do you know, then?”

The joke must be coming now, Cara tells herself. She waits for it but, again, there is just silence. And a sigh—a long, heavy sigh that speaks about someone who isn't here but whose lingering print is still influencing two people's lives long after he left them both.

Cara stills. Cobb's tone is low and brittle when, tucked away from her sight, he mutters, almost to himself, “I jus' do.”

Cara is half tempted to stand and stride up to his face and hiss at him that he's a conceited moron if he thinks he knows what she wants better than her, but then she realises this would trigger a heated conversation neither of them wants to have, otherwise they'd have discussed it a long while ago.

The funniest thing about this whole predicament between the two of them is that despite everything—despite the well-meaning townspeople breathing on their necks, and Greef's disapproval, and the awareness that there are _three_ people involved in this relationship that only two of them are sharing—despite all of this, they're _happy._

They've been collecting and putting together scraps of domesticity over this crazy year they've had together and what they've managed to assemble may appear a bit patchy and lopsided, if you look too closely, but from a reasonable distance Cobb reckons it lookes pretty good. Perhaps it isn't much, and certainly not perfect, but it is _theirs,_ and holding Cara's hand when they walk home after a long day is such a joy and such a privilege Cobb barely dares to wish for anything more than this.

Mando's ghost accompanies them wherever they go, whatever they do. Cobb got to know the man through Cara's eyes and he was pleased to discover the person he had grown to respect and admire and love in those few days they had together is the same man pictured by Cara's tales, the one who brings a huge smile to her lips every time she speaks about him. Cobb loves that she's not ashamed to admit her feelings, loves the touch of red colouring her cheeks whenever they talk about this person they both care for so deeply. There should be jealousy between them, but all there's ever been is nothing but blind trust and mutual comprehension. This compromise they've found is an illusion for them both: the live in it, thrive in it, but they promised each other they would keep things complication-free, and this means maintaining an emotional detachment Cobb isn't sure he could keep any longer.

“You look thoughtful,” Cara notes over dinner. She seems concerned. She's already wolfed down her fish and helping herself with a second serving; Cobb barely touched his own plate.

“Maybe,” he sighs but doesn't elaborate. His fist tightens around the glass of wine he's bringing to his lips.

“A drink for your thoughts, Marshal,” Cara says then, and he can't stifle a bittersweet smirk. She's playing dirty. He puts the glass down, fills it, gulps the wine down again, then stands up without looking at her.

“I'm tired,” he announces. “I'm goin' to sleep.”

He spends the night on the couch with a pillow and a blanket and empty arms. He soon finds out that sleeping without Cara's softness and warmth for the first time after almost a year isn't as simple as he believed.

Hours later, she brings him a spare blanket and drapes it across his shoulders before padding to the bedroom. He feels her fingers comb briefly through his hair, then she's gone. She doesn't ask _why._ He never explains.

He sleeps on the couch more often than not, now. When Cara wakes up in the morning, she still finds breakfast ready as she always has and Cobb waiting for her with a welcoming smile that's starting to drain away from his eyes with every passing day. She smiles back, kisses his cheek, his lips, but her eyes are growing sad, too.

They pretend nothing is happening and go on as they always have, take their personal frustrations out on whoever is so unfortunate to threaten the peace of their town. Sometimes they're angrier or sadder or just painfully lonely, and they find themselves entangled in violent kisses that will lead the up against a wall or rolling in bed for hours until they fall asleep clinging to each other like it's the last thing they'll ever do.

“What happened?” she asks one night, head resting upon his naked chest while his fingertips ghost across the silky skin of her back, enjoying her scent and the thump of her heart against his.

He inhales a long breath and lets it out slowly, looking for words that are already lingering on the tip of his tongue—words he's not allowed to pronounce.

“A whole lotta things,” he sighs.

“Won't you tell me what's been bothering you?”

“Guess I'm gonna have to, at some point.” He cups her face into his hand, pulls her up for a kiss so hungry it draws a surprised moan from her throat. “Not today, though,” he adds as he pulls back. And she scrutinises him with those pearl black eyes that will never cease to take his breath away, and he thinks with a heart full of sorrow of how much he's going to miss being looked at like this. The spell they fell into when they first met is wearing off: being in love with the same person and finding solace in each other isn't enough to keep two people together. Whatever it is Cobb is feeling for her, it goes one way, and unrequited feelings are better off buried before they grow too strong.

“Didn't I tell you this one was trouble?” Greef barks one afternoon when Cara shows up at the cantina looking particularly awful. Cobb is right next to her but Greef never bothered to hide his dislike in his regard and doesn't spare him a piercing glower.

“Always good to see ya, big bug,” Cobb retorts with a dashing smile.

Meanwhile, Cara has plopped down into one of the booths where Greef has already prepared her and Cobb's salaries and their cuts for the last few quarries they brought in.

“It's not his fault,” she grumbles, taking her head between her hands. Somehow Cobb feels it kind of _is_ his fault: things between them are not as simple and black and white as they used to be, and it's starting to take a toll on them. Cobb is nervous all the time and Cara has been having recurring headaches that are getting worse by the day. There was no way to coax her into having breakfast, this morning, nor yesterday or the day before, and Cobb is getting tired of eating alone.

He politely declines the spotchka Greef offers him and asks for a glass of water for Cara instead, which earns him a grateful glance from her and an unreasonably hostile glare from Greef. They take their money and leave the boss to his chagrined ranting about ill-matched couples and unforgivable mistakes.

“I'm startin' to think the man believes I'm poisonin' you or somethin',” Cobb laughs as they make their way across the bazaar.

“He's got a soft spot for Mando and his kid,” Cara says, passing the butcher's stall with a grimace. “He sees you as a poor replacement nobody asked for.”

Cobb bursts out laughing again. It's so close to the truth it hurts a little, but he's too busy admiring the winter sun shining upon Cara's face to really care about anything else. Every minute he spends with her is bringing him closer to the day he'll lose her forever; he's determined to cherish every single second until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to shout out a big fat THANK YOU to all of you beautiful people who commented the first chapter! ❤ You guys gave me a boost of confidence and enthusiasm that, added up to the love I'm feeling for this story, makes me a very happy and fulfilled author. I owe all of you big time!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this one! Third and final chapter coming soon!


	3. Why We Kill the Things We Love the Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cobb is a pining idiot and Cara is ready to kick some sense into him... and not just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We like our "adults" foolish and disfunctional, on this ship, and why just have two when you could have _three_ idiots who can't communicate? Amirite?
> 
> Also: 3 chapters became 4? So weird, how did that happen.

Over the following weeks, something between them starts shifting out of the blue, and the firm motivation Cobb had to put an end to everything crumbles under a single look from Cara in a matter of seconds. She's getting uncharacteristically clingy, _needy,_ as if she could sense the unspoken reasons behind his restlessness. She seeks him out whenever he's not nearby and asks him not to leave her when she starts having trouble sleeping at night. It makes Cobb's heart swell with fondness: with him holding her, Cara always sleeps tight through the night and getting her out of bed in the morning is a war he happily fights with kisses and caresses. He's going to miss her groggy face when she cracks her eyes open and greets him with a sleepy smile. He's going to miss the sense of _home_ she gives him.

He accompanies her for long walks in the planes when she feels like staying inside gets too suffocating. She enjoys the fresh air, even though it's getting colder and colder and dusk comes way too early. There is so much Nevarro shares with the dusty atmosphere of Tatooine, but the lava streams are really something else: their red gleaming lights up their path and the steam rising from the molten magma warms their hands and faces as they pass. It feels easier—less testing, in a way—to be together here rather than at home, where it's too nice and too cosy and makes Cobb dream of things he will never have.

“Not sure you should be comin' out here in this cold,” he comments as he kicks a lava lump out of their way. “You ain't lookin' good, these days.”

He's slightly concerned about her, but she'll get irritated if she feels he's getting too protective. He casts her a surreptitious glance to check her reaction and, predictably, finds her rolling her eyes. It really isn't fair of her to look so beautiful while he's trying to state the opposite.

“You could keep me warm, if you're so worried about my well-being,” she retorts affably with a nod toward his hips, where his hands are tucked deep in his pockets. He did that as soon as they got out to refrain himself for taking her hand, and she _knows_ —he can tell by that little smirk she's wearing that she knows, and how can he not pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless when she's looking so damn kissable?

“You're gonna get yourself in trouble with that mouth, darlin',” he whispers upon her lips. He wishes he were stronger than this: all it takes her to break him is a bat of her lashes, sometimes not even that. He's often very happy to just watch her breathe; being allowed to touch her, to have her, is a privilege he doesn't believe he deserves. He wonders, as he kisses her, if Mando is as much of a fool as he is for these eyes that could easily take his soul, if they wanted to.

Cara giggles. She leans back in his arms and stares into his eyes with a smile that punches the air out of his lungs for how tender it is. It's times like this he almost believes what he wants is actually within his reach and all he has to do is reach out to take it. He doesn't doubt Cara _loves_ him, but as to what kind of love that is... he's not so naïve to hope they're on the same page, here. The same chapter would be good enough, he tells himself with a hint of sour mirth.

He takes her face into his hands and feels the cold of her cheeks against his warm palms. His thumbs stroke her cheekbones, rough over the reddened skin, and all he can think about is the Madalorian's mute stare piercing him as he touches in a way the Mandalorian never could this woman they both love. Cobb thought he was screwed when he realised he felt something for the beskar-clad warrior he was doomed to never see again; now that he's here, and _Cara_ is here, he feels stupid for falling into the same trap twice. And yet, he regrets nothing.

Cara shivers in his arms. Cobb presses his lips to her temple, squeezes her gently, then whispers, “Let's get you home before you swoon on me again.”

“That was _one_ time!”

He chuckles at Cara's predictable indignation. He didn't know life could be _this_ good.

They walked out of town side to side, three feet apart; they walk back home wrapped around each other, laughing for how insanely cold it is now that the sun has gone down. Cobb tries his best to commit to memory this sense of completion he's feeling, wondering if maybe, perhaps, he should risk ruining everything they have in the name of what they _could_ have, and he's not sure he's willing to take this chance.

He has already changed his mind two weeks later, when he's sitting at the bar alone with too many empty glasses before himself and a sickeningly heavy emotional baggage weighing upon his shoulders.

Cara is at home—she's been for hours. It's been weeks since she last shared a drink with him; she's too tired, she says, to stop by at the cantina after work. He believes her because he always finds her fast asleep by the time he gets home; a few times he even has to pick her up from the couch and half carry her to bed while she mumbles a sleepy _'Thank you'_ in his neck. And it's almost cruel how the more he thinks about doing the right thing and leave, the more he finds himself drawn to her in a way that is so strong he can barely leave her side, some days. This is when he starts being afraid of his own feelings. This is when he decides he'd rather lose her now than in a month, or a year, or whenever it's going to be. Mando will be coming back for her, and Cobb doesn't belong to the picture he'll be expecting to find, and maybe it's just because he's a bit tipsy, but he feels like he'll explode if he hides his feelings from Cara for one more single day. She's probably going to hate him for this, so he's ready to pack and be on his way. Greef was right, in the end: one way or another, they'll end up hurting each other. In spite of all of this, Cobb doesn't regret coming here; he understands, and all too well, now, why Mando didn't even bother to acknowledge his flirting: now that he knows Cara— _now that he loves her_ —Cobb would choose her over himself, too. Hell, if he could, he would cross the damn galaxy to find him and get them back together. The thought of Mando holding someone else, and _loving_ someone else, isn't as infuriating as it used to be when this someone was only a faceless shadow; picturing Cara in Mando's arms is painful and yet absurdly heart-warming, now. If they can have each other, he's willing to step aside, bottle up his feelings, and carry them back to Tattooine with a smile on his face—a heartbroken one, but a smile nonetheless.

He's rehearsing the speech for tomorrow in his dizzy mind when he stumbles through the door and curses under his breath at the carpet he almost tripped over. Before he has a chance to realise the lights are on, he sees Cara rise from the couch out of the corner of his eye.

“About time!” she yells as she strides up to his face. Her hair is messy, as if she's been running her hands through it a lot, and her face looks dreadfully pale. Cobb feels a pang of guilt: it _is_ much later than usual. He didn't think she would notice his absence; what is she doing up so late?

“Where the hell has your stupid ass been?” she shouts in his face as she gives him an angry shove that makes him stagger a couple of steps backwards. “I was worried _sick,_ you son of a—”

Cobb grabs her wrists before she can shove him again. “Had a few drinks at the cantina,” he grouses as he tries to push past her, “no big deal.”

Cara doesn't try to stop him. She steps aside with a nauseated face he's only ever seen her put up for the scum they hunt down for a living.

“You're drunk,” she notes, her tone more weary than angry. _“Great.”_

“I ain't drunk.”

“Yeah? Well, that's good, because we need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do,” agrees before his brain catches up, making him frown. What does _she_ want to talk about?

Cara stands still, suddenly quiet and very pale. “Why do you sound like somebody died?”

Cobb turns his back to her, shoulders sagging heavily. _Here we go,_ he thinks while he takes a deep breath and then blurts, “I'm leavin'.”

“You're _what?”_

It's the chocked whisper of Cara's voice and the genuine panic it carries that make Cobb turn back to her like it's not even his decision. She's holding on to the back of the couch inhaling deeply, her eyes watching him with the closest thing to fear he's even seen in them.

Cobb sighs. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He walks up to her, brushes her messy hair our of her face, aware that this might be the last time he ever gets to do it, and drops all filters as he scrutinises her up close, allowing the truth about what he feels for her to crawl out of its cage and pour straight into her soul. Everything hurts inside him. When he first arrived here, the last thing he expected was to end up getting his heart stolen by Mando's belle.

“I'm gonna miss this beautiful face.”

Cara leans into his touch with a light shake of her head. “Cobb,” she murmurs shakily, “what the hell are you rambling about?”

His name on her lips, like a kiss, makes him hang his head and shut his eyes. He can't keep on pretending. All he can do is press his forehead to hers and let out a sigh that feels like it's taking his life away.

“I'm in love with you, Cara.”

His whole body feels her tense, every inch of him hyper aware of the weight of the silence that has fallen between them. Then Cara suddenly pushes him back, and what he hears is the puzzling sound of a _laugh._

“Wait, _that's it?”_ She looks at him like this is the funniest thing she's ever heard. “This is what all that moping was about?”

Is she _amused?_

Cobb fumbles, mouth hanging open making him feel the idiot he probably is. There must be something he's missing. And Cara's face is still bright with laughter, her eyes a couple of thin crescents glimmering in the dim light.

“I can't believe you made me worry for _weeks_ and you were just being a dramatic _idiot!”_

“ _What?”_ Cobb stutters, but his babbling gets cut off by Cara grabbing his shirt to pull his into a kiss that still has the shape of her lingering grin.

“Gods, you breath is awful,” she gags while she pulls back with a giggle. She takes a couple of deep breaths, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth as though she's actually about to throw up. Cobb never felt so self-conscious before and nothing that is happening is making any sense, but he just told Cara he loves her and she laughed at him and _kissed_ him, and he really can't bring himself to care about anything else.

He observes her for long seconds trying to convince himself this is not just a drunken hallucination, because it just too good to be true. The way Cara is looking at him right now... he thought it was something he would only ever see in his dreams.

His voice comes out a little choked when he finally gathers the courage to ask, “You still gonna keep me?”

Cara's teeth dig into her bottom lip, taming the curve of a coy smile. Cobb can't seem to remember how to breathe as she tugs him closer and kisses him again, soft and slow. He realises they've never kisses like this before—patiently, intensely but without any rush, without the temptation of sex on the other end of it. This is new, different. For the first time since they've been together, they're kissing like they have all the time in the world.

“I ain't no fool, Marshal,” she quips when she pulls back for air. “Unlike somebody else in this room.”

Cobb can't but chuckle at this. His head is spinning, and it's not because of the alcohol. “Tell me somethin' I don't know.”

Cara cups her hands around his neck, strokes the light trail of silver beard along his jaw, then says the one thing Cobb wasn't prepared to hear.

“I love you.”

The sound rings alien to his ears, and it's not like he hasn't tried to imagine it many, many times in his fantasies. Reality feels different: he realises he never got it right, not even once; he never pictured it to sound so loving and sweet, so _visceral._ In his reveries, it always sounded more erotic, laced with physical longing, perhaps because he always believed sex—the physical comfort it brought—was all Cara could ever love about him. Being wrong has never felt so good.

“You know,” Cara says, the tip of her nose nudging his fondly, “I'm glad you said that before I said what I have to say. Makes it much easier to believe you.”

“We need to talk?” he suddenly remembers.

Cara nods with a little laugh. “You can definitely say that.”

Cobb had assumed that _this_ was what she wanted to discuss. What else could there be?

“What's wrong?” he asks, because _'We need to talk'_ usually means trouble for a couple. Cara's expression, however, doesn't look like trouble; quite the opposite, in fact.

“Nothing's wrong,” she grins upon his lips. “Everything seems to be working quite right, actually.”

Cobb's arms wrap around her in a silent prayer; he holds her tight, rubs his cheek upon hers breathing her scent in like it's the only air he has left.

“You're killin' me, Cara,” he groans in her ear.

“Alright, Mr Marshal.” She pulls away a little with a sheepish face that makes him want to kiss her again, and again, and again. “You think your news was shocking?” she says teasingly. “I'm gonna show you shocking.”

Cobb arches his eyebrows, half dismayed, half intrigued. “Should I sit down?”

Cara's smug, widening smile makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. She's so beautiful it stirs an aching longing within Cobb's chest.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “you probably should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, you guys have been amazing so far and I'm so so happy this OT3 is getting some much deserved love! I'm even happier that someone else has decided to honour this ship with new stories, so if you haven't already, you should immediately go and read this beautiful drabble: [Let Sleeping Marshals Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139274) by [greenleaf9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf9/pseuds/greenleaf9).
> 
> I read this at 2 am while tossing and turning in bed, too anxious about the season finale to sleep, and it gave my heart a much needed soothing warm embrace of love. (I also watched the end of the episode because I couldn't possibly wait and... OMG, the feels.)
> 
> I hope you guys are still on board? Please let me know! Next and final chapter: The Return of the Mandalorian!


	4. The Return of the Mandalorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, these chapters keep multiplying... I don't know how to contain them. I swear five is the final count, the outline is settled, the ending has already been written. Five it is.

“ _I will come back,”_ he promised when he left to train the child with Ahsoka Tano. He departed knowing he was doing the right thing, but something about it had felt wrong, like he was leaving something unfinished behind. That something was Cara.

There was no hesitation in her voice when she said, _“And I'll be waiting for you.”_

To Din, it felt like a burden rather than a reassurance. To know Cara would be there for him no matter what, no matter how long, made him feel guilty and enraged with himself for the relief this promise of hers had brought to him.

“ _We don't know how long it's going to take.”_

“ _It doesn't matter. When you come back, I'll be right here,”_ she insisted, and the love in her eyes was enough to convince Din to leave without looking back, though the burden of regrets he carried upon his shoulders didn't feel any lighter.

Being back to Nevarro after almost two years feels strange and slightly bewildering. The town has changed, grown, evolved; it feels like everything has been carrying on and he didn't, still frozen on the same spot, with a child gifted with incredible powers in his custody and very little to offer to him besides basic comfort. Ahsoka agreed Grogu can and needs to spend time in a place that he can call his home, but the Crest is gone and the only home Din has left in the galaxy is the woman he has come back for.

“I'm looking for the marshal,” he tells a man sitting on a crate next to his stall in the bazaar.

The man looks up at him squinting through the sunlight, and huffs out a laugh. “Which one?”

Din blinks. “How many are there?”

“Two,” the man conveys. “And a half,” he adds with a chuckle.

Din, who doesn't have the emotional energy to put up with any of this nonsense, fishes a few credits out of his pocket and flips them to the guy.

“Marshal Dune?” he tries again.

Suddenly very happy to cooperate, the man tells Din he will find _Mrs Marshal_ in the whitewashed house with the green door two streets down the school.

It makes Din smile to know Cara has earned herself such an affectionate epithet as Mrs Marshal. He's curious to meet this second marshal, too: they must be quite an impressive character to not only put up and _keep up_ with her, but also and especially to deserve to work beside her.

He's looking forward to telling her everything about the enormous progresses the kid has made under Ahsoka's guidance. He knows she has responsibilities, here, but he's hoping she'll be willing to take a couple of weeks off and go back to Grogu with him. It shouldn't be hard to manage, since apparently she has a deputy, now. _And a half,_ he remembers, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Finding the house is easy: almost every door in the neighbourhood is bare wood bleached by the sun; Cara's door is a freshly painted bright shade of emerald green that makes a beautiful contrast with the pots of lush red flowers aligned along the white wall. When he knocks, he does it with a knot of nervousness in his stomach; nothing has changed for him: he returned with the same feelings and the same intentions he left with, and he trusts the promise Cara made him, but it's still been two years, and anything can happen in two years. If her feelings have changed, he won't blame her.

He steps back a little, trying to imagine her—longer hair, perhaps, maybe a new tattoo. When the door opens, he's already picturing the bright smile gracing her face; the face that appears before him, however, isn't Cara's, although, after a couple of seconds of frozen perplexity, it does open up into a bright, welcoming smile. Din's brain has a very hard time processing what he's seeing.

“Cobb Vanth?”

Vanth recovers from the shock faster than Din; the smile on his handsome face spreads even further, making his eyes twinkle in the sun. He's barely clothed—barefoot, a pair of shorts and a shabby shirt—and looks like he just got out of bed.

“You son of a— It's good to see ya in one piece, man!” he greets warmly, holding up a hand for Din to clasp—which he does, but barely consciously. What is Marshal Cobb Vanth doing in Nevarro?

Din's heart skips a beat.

_Two marshals._

“Lookin' fine as cream gravy, hey?” Vanth grins, giving Din a long and very appreciative once-over.

“I must be in the wrong place,” Din replies in confusion. The house with the green door two streets down the school... it _has_ to be this one.

Cobb's look darkens imperceptibly. “I got a feelin' you're not.”

Din is about to excuse himself and go back to the main street to figure out where he went wrong, when a familiar voice calls from inside the house, “Who is it?”

He barely has the time to register what is happening; one second later Cara materialises on the threshold, looking as ruffled and scantily dressed as Vanth.

“Cobb, come on, the caf is—” It takes Cara a moment to realise Din is there because her attention is all on Vanth, but when she finally notices him it's just like Din imagined: the most radiant smile Din has ever seen blooms across her face while she takes him in, looking as pleased and as incredulous as Vanth.

“Din?”

“Cara,” he rasps. She's as beautiful as he remembers, perhaps even more. What is really different about her is that she looks perfectly serene, _happy._

He thought seeing her again after such a long time would feel... different. After two years away, he expected to feel overwhelmed, but he's standing here like an idiot, and she's smiling at him like he never left at all, and somehow it makes him feel like he never did. Except for Vanth's presence.

“Look who's still alive!” Cara's hand slips away from Vanth's chest as she steps forward to take a better look at Din. “Come on in, we were about to have breakfast.”

She takes Din's hand to drag him inside but he's paralysed on the spot. This is not a coincidence: their clothes, the way they look at each other and interact, the house... there is _something,_ here. And he _wants_ to go inside, because he missed both these people so much—Vanth he even thought he would never see again—but now for some sick joke of fate they seem to have found their way to each other and to a life together.

“I don't want to intrude,” he mumbles, but he does. He wants to go inside and see what they have for breakfast, and if the place looks like a mash of their personalities, and see how they gravitate around each other...

He feels like a voyeur, a starved child peeking through a bakery window trying to placate his hunger by watching delicious food someone else is going to eat. He doesn't even care. He knows he should hate Vanth right now for whatever happened between him and Cara, but all Din sees between these two is so strong and genuine he just can't make himself feel anything but a peculiar, bittersweet kind of envy.

“Don't be stupid, come on.” Cara has picked up his hesitation and takes advantage of that to drag him inside before he can protest. The thing is, he wasn't going to protest. He feels a morbid and quite sadistic curiosity about the situation, and while a part of him wants to turn away and forget about all of this, another part of him, and much larger and stronger, needs to _know._ He came here with his pockets full of expectations, only to find out that someone else is living the life he was dreaming for himself—someone he can't even hate, because Vanth planted a seed of _something_ in Din's soul, and that something is the very opposite of hate. So here they are, now: the woman he loves and the man who stirred unthinkable feelings in his heart... together. He should feel jealous and hurt, or at least angry, but for some reason seeing Cara and Vanth look at each other warms his heart in a way he can't explain. It doesn't make sense: he fantasised about something like this, except in his fantasies he was a part of the deal, not a helpless witness. He should be _blind_ with jealousy; instead, he only feels a remote and placid sadness for missing out on both fronts, aware that feelings cannot be helped and no one can choose who they love.

Inside, the house is plain but cosy—very simple furniture, no clutter, only a lot of plants and flowers and a very curious arrangement of paper butterflies floating over a recliner in a corner of the living room. The air smells like fresh caf and something sweet and soapy Din cannot quite identify. At the small table in the kitchen area, the table is set for three.

Din finds himself smiling: this is a happy home, somewhere to return to find peace again after along day of work. Suddenly his musings about the remarkable person this new marshal must be make even more sense: nobody would be more worthy to be Cara's partner than Cobb Vanth.

“Are you expecting guests?” he asks with a nod toward the table.

“Yes,” Cara beams, “you.”

There are desert flowers in a terracotta vase at the centre of the table, and mismatched mugs waiting to be filled with fresh caf, and—

Din suddenly registers what Cara just said.

“Uh?”

Vanth reaches Din's side, follows the trajectory of his gaze, then gently nudges him with his elbow.

“Two whole years. Kept us waitin' long enough, don't ya think?”

Din is dumbfounded, staring at the table with a shrill ring in his ears. _Three spots._ Could this really be? He knew what he was leaving behind when he left; Cara knew, too. They decided to put whatever was happening between them on hold for the sake of the child, and Din left knowing they would find each other again when he returned. Cara is here, as she promised she would be, but she's not alone, and Din isn't really sure what she and Cobb are offering him, because what he thinks— _wishes_ it is cannot possibly be this easy to obtain.

“Take a seat,” Vanth invites him. “We'll find something to put in front of you while we eat.”

They _have_ thought about this, Din realises. How long have they had to talk about this—about Din's place between them, or _with_ them?

“Are you two—” Din starts asking, but his question falters when a faint sound comes from the other room, like the weak mewl of a cat. Vanth meets Cara's eyes for a split second before giving Din an odd guilty glance.

“I'll go,” he tells Cara, and she nods with a light sigh.

Din watches Vanth disappear beyond a door that closes back behind him while he rubs the back of his neck with a heavy sigh.

“He arrived a few weeks after you left,” Cara explains before Din can even put his thoughts together, “offered his help to keep the planet clean. Things... happened.” She glances down at her feet as she says this. Din finally has a moment to take a better look at her: she's the same old Cara, strong and gorgeous, but something about her bearing seems different—milder, perhaps, less feral than it used to be. She looks... _domesticated,_ a softer version of his Cara, both inside and outside.

“How long have you and him—”

“All along, basically.” She lets out a small giggle that could be coy, could be loving. Maybe it's both. When she meets Din's eyes through his visor, her look is so intense it raises goosebumps all over Din's arms and back. “Funny things happen when you put together two people who are in love with the same guy.”

So, they're talking about _that._ It's odd to hear it: Cara never _told_ him exactly how she felt, and Vanth... Vanth was a couple of days' dream, never meant to last. Vanth wasn't of the same opinion, apparently: he brought his affection for Din all the way to Nevarro only to come across the one other person—along with Grogu—who ever stirred something in Din's heart.

He tries to justify himself, “I should have come back sooner, but the kid—”

“The kid needed you,” Cara scoffs, as if insulted by his unprompted explanation. “Hey,” she adds more softly, her hands seeking his at his sides, “I knew you'd come back one day. We both did. Though I think he believes it's just me you came back for.” A nod of her head leads Din's attention to the door beyond which Vanth disappeared a minute ago.

“I did,” Din confirms blankly. “I came back for you.”

“But you felt something for him back on Tatooine.”

“How do you know?”

Cara shoots him an indulgent smile, “You told him about me, and he figured us out as soon as he met me. When we started talking...” She breaks into a little laugh. “I don't know, he just— he felt like someone you'd easily grow fond of.”

It makes Din smile to see how easily she can still see right through him. So Vanth knew at once what Cara meant to Din, and Cara sensed the attachment Din had developed for the man, and despite all of this they still got together. Din isn't sure what to make of this knowledge.

“He reminded me of you,” he confesses. Strong, witty, honourable, a little reckless, shamelessly attractive... how could Cobb Vanth not remind him of Cara?

Cara grins. “Yeah, I can see why.”

A few moments pass, and it's just the two of them regarding each other and savouring the mere pleasure of being together again. Tentatively, Cara pulls him forward, and he follows pliantly, wishing his armour wasn't such an obstacle between himself and her, because all he wants right now is to feel her like he felt her the day he left with the kid two years ago—her body tight against his, their cheeks desperately pressed together and their arms stubbornly refusing to let go. It's like gravity itself is drawing them to one another, and when they embrace the long time they've spent apart doesn't seem real all of a sudden: they never parted, never said goodbye, never went a single day without each other.

“Din,” Cara murmurs upon his chest, so feebly he nearly misses it, “what Cobb and I found together... that doesn't change how we feel about you.”

Din's eyes shut closed. A remote, insane idea starts forming in the swirling haze of his mind: himself and Cara and Cobb, a life where there is room for all three of them—together. Is this what Cara is saying? That they can have _this?_

He remembers his musings when he was about to leave Mos Pelgo, how guilty he felt for thinking that, if he hadn't had Cara, he would have considered staying for a little while, and maybe ask Vanth to come along for support, after. He would have never dreamed he could have _both_ these people.

“Do you think it's possible?” he asks, unable to keep his voice from quivering. He pulls back, and Cara's face says _'Of course!',_ and for a moment everything seems within reach. Then Din opens his eyes, and suddenly he can't remember how to breathe, because Vanth has reappeared behind Cara, and in his arms, wrapped up in a fuzzy yellow blanket, lies a beautiful little baby.

_And a half._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to grow so emotionally invested in this OT3. I started out as a joke and the story kept growing and growing... especially on me. I'm so so happy so many of you guys are still reading this, it wouldn't be half as wonderful to be writing this without your beautiful support!
> 
> Next chapter is the last and I'm very nervous about it because everything will be coming together and this is such a complex situation to handle... ugh.
> 
> I'd love to hear from all of you, even if all you feel you can say is a couple of words or even just an emoji. Thank you all in advance for being beside me through this unexpected journey!


	5. A Place to Rest the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is more than blood.

The adoration with which Vanth is looking down at the baby in his arms is so deep and pure it feels Din's heart with a tingling warmth he has never felt before. The baby is making sleepy little noises, two tiny fists crumpled at the sides of its face as it yawns wide with the sweetest grimace Din has ever seen. He finds himself smiling: this subtle softness, now emerging so brightly, is what drew him to Vanth in the first place, a pull even stronger than Vanth many other qualities—courage, honour, even his tongue-in-cheek... In fact, Vanth is so similar to Cara in so many ways that Din can't even bring himself to feel remotely surprised to find them settled down together and with a family of their own. It makes so much sense— _and it's crazy_ —it doesn't even hurt. It's like the universe knew these two were all alone out there and _so good_ for each other and decided to pull some string and give them a chance. Din know this feeling: he's been there several times with Cara, always being drawn back every time they parted, and he felt just the same when he crossed paths with Vanth in Mos Pelgo. It is comforting, in a way, that they're all here in the same room, today: it makes Din's dreams seem a little less insane.

As soon as the baby starts fussing, Cara comes forward, arms open to welcome the small bundle Vanth is already handing out to her.

“Hey, buddy. You hungry already?” Cara adjusts the baby in the cradle of her arm with a smile so tender Din almost reaches out to touch it. For someone who used to insist so vehemently she didn't want to have anything to do with babies, Cara seems to be very at ease in her new role of mother, a real natural. It's a striking change, but not a shocking one: Din himself went through it and knows instinct hits harder than rationality.

“He refused to go back to sleep,” Vanth murmurs.

”We got a stubborn one.”

“He doesn't take it after me, ya know?”

“Kriff you.” Cara swats Vanth's chest with a giggle, then turns, meeting Din's hungry stare. “Din? Wanna meet Baby Marshal?”

 _Yes,_ Din wants to reply, but he can't move, can't even get his lips to part. He's awestruck by this brand new life Cara and Cobb made together—he's so _proud_ of them...

He gets closer to them, and it's like he's getting pulled into their gravitational field: now that he's stepped into it, he's not sure he'll ever be able to step back and leave.

“He looks like you,” he notes, looking from the little boy to Cobb, “but he has Cara's eyes.”

“And her nose,” Cobb agrees proudly.

It's weird that Din feels so involved in something he didn't provide any contribution into making; he doesn't know where this is coming from.

“He's beautiful,” he breathes. His brushes his gloved fingers over the blanket, not daring to touch the baby for fear of hurting him. He offers Cara and Cobb a smile they can't see but hopefully will sense, “I'm happy for you.”

They're standing in a tight circle, all three of them and this beautiful little guy whose dark eyes are scrutinising Din so intently and curiously.

“Are you here to stay?” Cara asks with a careful tone.

This _was_ Din's plan: find Cara, tie up all their loose ends and maybe start something new, together. But there is already something new, here, and Din has a feeling he's being offered an open door into it.

“You want me to?”

“There's always been a place for you, here. We built this family for you to be a part of it.”

Cobb squeezes his shoulder with a smile. “She ain't lyin', man.”

Din's armour is getting heavier and heavier upon him. He looks at them—the woman and the man he loves, and their baby—and instead of feeling out of place, he almost feels like he's been here all along.

“I know.”

The baby squirms in Cara's arms and she bounces him gently until he calms. It brings back old memories Din has been fondling holding on to for years. He wishes Grogu could be here with them: he would be absolutely in love with this baby boy.

“We missed you every day.” Cara touches his arm with her free hand. “We both wished you could have been here when this little one was born.”

“We could've used a couple more hands, that day, huh?” Cobb grins.

“Yeah,” Cara agrees sardonically, “someone who wouldn't _drop_ their newborn son.”

“ _Almost_ dropped. He was _so_ slippery and I was terrified—”

Cara gives him a sharp shove. “Oh, _you_ were terrified? You try delivering a baby in an abandoned mine under blaster fire!”

Cobb rubs the back of his head with a very self-conscious glance toward Din, to which Din responds with an indulgent tilt of his head.

“Sounds like I'm not the only one who has memorable stories to share.”

It hits him as he's saying it: there is nothing he wants more than to sit down with them and hear everything—how Cobb decided to come to Nevarro, how he and Cara stumbled into each other and eventually got together, about the pregnancy and what sounds like the most memorable birth of all times... and in return, he can tell them about Grogu, and Ashoka's wonderful mentoring, and maybe they could all go back to Corvus together. It would be hilarious to explain the situation.

“Does this mean you're stayin'?” Cobb asks, his grip on Din's shoulder tightening with a hopeful twitch.

“Do you really want me here?”

Cara rolls her eyes. “We've wanted you with us since before we even met. And then we met,” she says, meeting Cobb's loving look, “and we still wanted you, but instead of wanting you alone, we wanted you together.”

“You and the little green guy.”

Everything Din has fantasised about so many times is happening right before him and he's almost afraid this might not be real. It's too good, too perfect...

And then the baby starts wailing out of nowhere, and his shrill cry is so strong and grounding Din just can't help but smile. This little guy surely has inherited his mother's energy.

Cara pats his bottom soothingly as she sits down at the round table to nurse him. As soon as the baby latches, the wailing ceases magically, replaced by greedy chomping sounds that make all three adults chuckle fondly.

Next to Din, Cobb crosses his arms and watches, mesmerised as though this is the first time he's seeing this, too.

“We named him Jarren, you know? Jarren Dune.”

The sound causes a funny flutter within Din's heart, but it's something else that touches him even deeper than that.

“His last name is Dune?”

Cobb shoots him a knowing smile. “She carried him, gave birth to him—”

“—puked for three months because of him—” Cara cuts in from the table.

“—was only fair he had her name,” Cobb finishes, “and a bit of yours,” he adds, putting his arm around Din's shoulders, then looks down at the baby, “Ain't it right, Jay?”

As if responding to his name, Jarren lets out a content little moan as his minuscule fingers knead eagerly into Cara's breast. Din could just stand here and watch this for hours and, according to Cara's and Cobb's enamoured looks, so could they. They gave their son Cara's last name—his mother's name, not his father's, and this is such a thoughtful gesture Din doesn't really know what to say.

“This little guy snuck up on us, you know?” Cara beams. “And then decided to arrive when we least expected it, but we were happy to welcome him home.”

Her look and Cobb's feel like caresses upon Din's face, even through the beskar. This is everything he would have never dared to dream of, for himself and for Grogu: a home, a normal life, a family full of love. It's just hard to believe it can really be so easy.

“Hey.” Cobb's arm squeezes his shoulder a little harder in a way that's meant to be playful but carries so much more meaning. “This is your choice, okay? We can't force you. But that's your chair right there,” Cobb points that the empty chair on Cara's right, “and your plate, and your mug.”

“We've been putting them down every day for the past couple of years,” Cara chimes in while she moves the baby to the other breast, “waiting to fill them for you. If you go, you're walking away from a home where you are loved and you've been long awaited. Remember that when you're out there, all alone and sulking.”

Din feels immensely stupid when his mouth opens and words he isn't even thinking fall out. “Can I think about it?”

He can feel the disappointment in how Cobb's arm slips away from his back.

“Sure. Take all the time you need.”

Cara doesn't say anything. She just seeks his eyes through the visor and smiles—a smile that feels both reassuring and imploring.

Din gives her and Cobb a slow nod, then, trying not to look at his spot at the table, turns on his heel and starts walking away, leaving Cobb placing a comforting hand on Cara's shoulder.

He doesn't know why he's doing this, walking away from things he was never old enough to even dream. What is there to think about?

Halfway to the door, he turns back—just for one moment, he tells himself—and the glimpse of heart-shattering domesticity the view offers him fills his chest with _need._ It's simple as that: Cara nursing the baby while Cobb cuts the meat in her plate for her then leans forward to brush a quick kiss on her forehead.

Suddenly, the longing paralysing Din's limbs feels heavier than his beskar.

There are some many things they don't know, that he wants to tell them—that Grogu has a name, and how well he's learning to master his powers, and the tough, life-changing spiritual journey Din himself has been going through since meeting Bo-Katan Kryze... It would be so easy to just take a seat and accept the belonging they're offering him. He can easily picture this: the three of them and the children, the house filled with joy and laughter, a future to look forward to.

He halts.

He wants this, all of this. He's tired of roaming aimlessly. He wants to go home.

He moved a step, then another. With each of them, the weight suffocating him from the inside gradually crumbles away. When he reaches the table again, Cara and Cobb don't interrupt what they're doing but Din can see the slow smiles spreading across their faces.

With a deep breath, he reaches up, places his hands at the sides of his helmet and just _pulls_ as two pairs of stunned eyes freeze before him, then, like it's no big deal, he sets down the helmet, just next to his plate, and waits. Cara and Cobb freeze for a moment, but then Din grabs the chair, pulls it back, plops down in it with the heavy sigh and a sense of unimaginable freedom and relief, feeling like someone who's just returned home from a long time at war. All of a sudden, everything appears as simple as Cara and Cobb made it sound.

It takes a few seconds, but finally everything seems to click into place, like it was always meant to be this way. Wearing a big smile, Cobb fills Din's mug with caf while Cara, with the baby still holding on tight to her chest, hands over the tray with the meat and the bread. They all look at each other for a moment, then, without a word, everyone starts eating with the same shy, blissful expression.

After a while, Cara hands the baby to Cobb, buttons her shirt back into place, then piles a couple of muffins into her plate with a big grin that is brighter than the sun shining in from outside.

“So,” she begins casually, “how have your past two years been, honey?”

Din just can't help a small laugh that maybe is also a little brittle. This is something so many people take for granted every day of their life; to him, it's so new and extraordinary he thinks he's never going to stop marvelling at how good it feels.

He embraces them all with a grateful look—Cara, Cobb, and baby Jarren—then, as naturally as can be, grabs a sip from his caf, and, with a smile overwhelmed with emotion, begins to speak.

*

  
  


_1 YEAR LATER_

  
  


Jarren and Grogu are busy stacking up wooden blocks into wobbly walls they like to tear down right before they collapse on their own. Din and Cobb are sitting on the carpet with them, half helping the children, half chatting about the most recent town gossips. The late spring sun is gracing the room with its last golden light before setting below the planes.

Din looks up from the sorry building site to find Cara leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed and a very smug smile painted all over her face. Following his gaze, Cobb eventually spots her, too. Din will never get enough of these exchanges of looks between the three of them. Greef always teases that no one in town has needed any sugar in their caf since the three of them got together,

“Watcha doin' there?”

Cara shrugs. “Just watching my boys being adorable.”

After Jarren toddles straight into the unstable wall they all just finished building, Grogu builds it up for him again in a three seconds by floating all the bricks back into place. He's getting remarkably gentle and precise with his powers, compared to the clumsy disasters he used to cause at the beginning of his training. They're all very proud of him.

“Join us,” Din suggests while Cobb tickles Grogu's belly accusing him of cheating.

“I like the view from here,” Cara says over the child's shrill giggles.

“Too much testosterone for one single girl?” Cobb teases.

Din notices the rapid shift in the expression on Cara's face, her grin going from touched to mischievous in less than a blink.

“Don't worry about that. Reinforcements are coming.”

Din accepts the couple of blocks Jarren is placing into his hands to start yet another construction. “Are we expecting guests?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Cara purrs. “She's due to arrive around Life Day.”

Din and Cobb exchange a puzzled look. “That's in six months.”

“Did you invite Ahsoka for the holidays?”

It's a bit too early to starts planning Life Day's celebrations. Cara stares at them with her eyebrows arched so dramatically it makes Din wonder if he missed a joke or something.

“You guys are _dense.”_

“She's insultin' us, Din,” Cobb mutters. Grogu is nearly ripping his shirt off his chest to get his attention; on the carpet, Jarren has started chewing on one of the wooden blocks, which Din promptly removes, replacing him with a rubber ring Jarren throws away with a displeased grunt, only to pick up a new block to chew onto.

 _Definitely his mother's son,_ Din laughs to himself.

“She's always insulting us,” he says. Neither he nor Cobb couldn't go a single day without Cara's insults, anyway.

“Grogu knows what I'm talking about, don't you, buddy?” Cara argues as she bends to pick up their oldest child. ”You knew right away when you came home, didn't you?”

Din frowns. Every five months, Grogu spends a month at home with them. What is it that he's supposed to know? He glances at Cobb with an inquisitive scowl, but Cobb has no idea what Cara means, either.

“About Ahsoka?”

“Who even _mentioned_ Ahsoka?” Cara snorts.

“You said _reinforcements,”_ Cobb objects, “we assumed—”

Grogu cackles, perched upon Cara's hip. As usual, this triggers his brother to imitate him at once.

Cara sets Grogu down and straightens up slowly.

“You know what, I give up. Figure it out on your own. I can't believe I married _two_ dumb idiots.” She brings her hands to her hips and lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Do Mama a favour, kids: don't grow up stupid like your dads.”

The two dads in question watch her stalk away with the same blank expression. There is something they're failing to catch, here, Din can feel it. He just has no idea what.

“She's getting sweeter by the day, eh?” Cobb quips. He's puzzled, too, but Cara's mood has been funny, lately, and by now they're getting used to it.

“She is,” Din confirms. “What was all of that about?”

Cobb shrugs. “No idea. I've only seen her that weird when she was expecting Jay.” He picks the boy up and turns him in his arms to give him a warm smile that lasts about two seconds before freezing in realisation.

Din's jaw drops and his heart stops as he meets Cobb's equally shocked look over Grogu's head. They both stare at each other for a moment, paralysed, while Grogu giggles like he's having the time of his life, then their heads snap in sync toward the now empty doorway.

“ _Cara!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I managed to make this as good as I wanted to, but work has been sucking all my energy away again, and I had to fonish this today before I fall back into my usual dark pit again. (Hopefully I won't, but better be safe.)
> 
> So, this is over. It started out as a tiny thing and became a not so tiny thing because these three beautiful dorks are too soft and didn't want to let go. Blame them, not me.
> 
> It would be lovely if you gave my tired soul a little comforting pat with a wee comment, if you enjoyed this a little bit? My day off tomorrow has just been canceled and I don't know if I'm more furious or sad. Sigh.
> 
>  **P.S. if anyone else here went crazy for that scene between Boba Fett and Koska Reeves in the season finale, I highly recommend you read Name1's GORGEOUS[Lying to Yourself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508265) (hot, angry and sweet, all in the same ship!), which inspired me to write [The Fire Beneath The Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528686). I simply refuse to believe people haven't noticed the insane sexual tension between these two.** 🔥🔥🔥

**Author's Note:**

> I was a mess this morning, but I had a good cry and apparently got myself together a little bit. Forgive my awful mood in the past couple of weeks; it happens from time to time and it's unplesant, I'm sorry. I promise it'll pass.
> 
> I'm aware virtually nobody is interested in this OT3, so I'm emotionally ready to get very little response to this. It's fine. I enjoyed writing this and this is such a beautiful thing to experience again I don't even mind. Of course, if you did like this, it'd be amazing to hear what you thought. ❤
> 
> Part 2 coming soon!


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